Just That Kinda Guy
by IvoryAlchemist
Summary: The kid said to me: I love you, Logan. I've always loved you. And all I said, all I've ever said, was: No, you didn't.


_I saved your life._

Life's like George Carlin - funny, funny as fuck, nobody to argue that; but mean, too, a damn mean son-of-a-bitch. I always liked that guy, though I don't really watch TV. Whatever. I'm forgiven a little indulgence every once in a while. Another funny thing: that's one of the first things the kid said to me when we were sitting down eating lunch at the school. That Popsicle bub was making stupid jokes trying to look cool for the kid and she said, he's kinda funny, you think, Logan?

Yeah, right. Next fucking George Carlin.

And she just smiled - the only person in my recent memory (which is rather small, admittedly, but what-the-FUCK-ever,) who just smiled when I said something. Smiled at meant it: not a smirk, not a coy grin, none of that bullshit, just a smile. Just a smile that said, Yeah, you're right.

And she said, I love George Carlin. He's my favorite comedian.

But I didn't say anything back, because she was just a kid and I was thinking about other things - or thing, really, or person, or woman, if you must, by the name of Jean Grey - so I just blew her off. She didn't seem to mind.

But anyways. That's totally besides the point. What was I even fucking talking about? Oh, yeah, right. Life. My life and her saving it, and my saving hers. That's what she said to me, after all: I saved your life. Just like that, no hesitation, no remorse, no, I saved it, and now I'm wishing I didn't - none of that bullshit. She saved me and she didn't fucking regret it, even if I left her behind in the poisonous Canadian winter.

And you know what I said to her? You know what I said? I said, _No, you didn't. _

That's just the kinda guy I am, I guess. The kind who just says No, sorry, go fuck yourself. And she's so much better than that. But she wanted in anyways, and she got right in my truck and smiled and started chatting. That's just the kinda girl she is, I guess.

Another funny thing: I thought the kid was kinda annoying when I first met her.

Well, I've known her for about three years now, and I'm starting to suspect I love her. Not that I know much about loving people - the only one I'm really sure I've loved is Jean, and that's because I felt like throwing up or tearing my hair out or going into a Berserker every time she walked into a room - but I'm starting to suspect. I don't really feel crazy when I see her, but I feel kinda warm. And don't say a fucking thing about warm fuzzies and cliches and all that shit, cause I just frankly don't give a flying fuck. So back to what I was saying; I feel kinda warm and cool and just like wherever I am, in life or in a fight or just standing in line for a soda, I'm in the right place. I'm where I need to be, where I belong, because she's there with me.

I'm not in love with her. I mean, what do you think I am, some kinda pervert? No, no, nothing like that. She's pretty, of course, but she's young and sweet and uncorrupted, and I don't want to mess with that. And that ridiculous blonde Ice-Boy is just right for her, I think - stupid and sincere and unaware of all the horrible, fucked up shit in life. And if anything bad should happen, I'll be here to save her from all that crazy shit called Life, ya know? So she can be happy with Popsicle and I can just wait around in the shadows to back her up if anything should go down.

I'm good at that sort of thing.

So anyways, that was my plan. Too bad the kid fucked it up, as she tends to fuck up just about everything she's ever run across.

Turns out, funnily enough, she's absolutely ass over tits in love with me.

Even funnier: She _told _me. I mean, she didn't say, I'm ass over tits in love with you, but you get my drift. She told me she loved you.

I was getting ready to leave, and I gave her my dog tags and said I'd be back soon. I was actually following Jean on an investigation into some mutant abuse or some shit like that, but I didn't wanna say anything to the kid. And she said, Why do you always have to leave, Logan? Why can't you just be happy in your home?

And I laughed, said, I have no home, darlin'. Anyways, I gotta get going. I'll see you around, right?

And she said, I'm happy for you.

Like, what the fuck?

She said it all whispery and everything, like a big ol' secret. Then she said, Love looks really good on you, Logan. Being in love really fits you.

And she was smiling that smile that I noticed when I first met her - a real smile, with just kindness and love and appreciation and absolutely no fucking bullshit - and all I could think to say was, I'm sorry, Marie. But you're just a kid.

That's just the kind of guy I am, I guess.

I know, Logan. I know. That's what she said, and the poor kid was crying. She was trying to hide it, course, but it was real fucking obvious.

Jean was outside waiting, and I wanted to leave and catch her, but I couldn't just leave the poor kid, either. Even though I might've wanted to.

Look, kid, you're like a little sister to me, ya know? You're a great kid and that guy - Boris? Blake? - or whatever - he's the kinda guy you wanna hook up with. Don't chase after shadows and drifters, kid. You'll get nothing out of us.

And I was gonna walk away all victorious and noble and wise, but she said something. Something I've never heard from anybody, ever. At least not when they were talking to me.

But Logan, I love you.

What? That's what I said - What? That's all I could think of saying.

What?

And she said, You're the best man I've met, Logan. You're brave, and strong and smart and quiet and noble and thoughtful and giving and - The kid stopped talking, all red in the face and teary-eyed, but then she just finished off, quiet and demure: And I love you. So much. And you love Jean and I think that's great and hope you guys can be happy together. I love you. I've always loved you, Logan.

You don't really, kid. No, you didn't.

And then she turned around and left, and so did I.

So anyways. That's when I first started to love her, I think - I felt all restless and sick to the stomach when I was out with Jean. And when I saw her next, I just pulled her against me and she was warm and solid and she wrapped her arms around my waist and nestled her head in the crook of my neck and _Goddamn, _when you've been wondering alone in the dark for fifteen years, it feels nice to have somebody to hug you back.

_Damn nice._

Three years, three years I've been aching for Jean Grey. Fifteen years, fifteen years I've been wandering through the cold night lost and alone. All my life I've been moving, looking; in the cage, on the road, in life - gotta keep moving, looking. And then one day I meet a girl who smiles real smiles and hugs me back and loves me, and all I can think to say, all I've ever been saying:

No, you didn't.

So she fell in love with the Popsicle and they dated for a while, and then broke up. And then she dated the Cajun, and they got married, and the kid was happy. The kid was real happy, which was nice.

Except it wasn't.

Because Jean was dead, and loved Scott anyways, and the warmth and coolness and security I felt when I saw the kid turned into a pain; a dull ache. And I can't help but wonder what woulda happened if I'd told her I loved her, if I said that the skin, Jean, none of that mattered because she was sweet and innocent and smiled real smiles.

Because that was the truth. It was always the truth. I love her, too. And I knew she loved me.

But that's not what I said, not what I've been saying. Not in my whole damn life.

_I love you, Logan. I've always loved you. Always._

_No, you didn't._

That's just the kind of guy I am, I guess.

FIN


End file.
